


you are my strength when I am weak

by everythingislove (narrylife)



Series: save you right back [1]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 4+1 Things, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 14:46:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narrylife/pseuds/everythingislove
Summary: Four times Isak Valtersen had to be strong, and the one time Even is there when he crumbles.





	you are my strength when I am weak

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first time writing anything for the SKAM fandom, but I'm very excited to be giving it a try. this fic is the product of a headcanon I have based on the info and hints about Isak's childhood and family life. 
> 
> (tw for untreated mental illness, implied/referenced child abuse*, an encounter with homophobia, minor violence, and sad Isak Valtersen)
> 
> *it's vague, but it's there.

i.

Isak is six years old and placing bandaids around his mother's fingers.

The floral wallpaper of the living room is painted with streaks of blood, but she doesn't seem bothered by the mess or pain. After hours of screaming and clawing at the wall, seeing things that were never there to begin with, she's settled into an eerie peace.

His stomach churns each time he looks toward the tips of her fingers. On some, the nails have broken; on others, she's ripped them off completely in her frenzy. (Do fingernails grow back? He'll have to ask Jonas at school tomorrow, just to make sure.)

"I tried to call dad, but he didn't answer." He tells her softly, knowing the glaze in her eyes means she's not listening anyways. "He might be gone again for a while, but that's okay. I can clean up."

She doesn't respond. He never expected her to.

Sometimes, he likes to imagine that in a parallel universe things are different—that another Isak Valtersen is holding both his parents' hands as they stroll through the park. _That_ Isak has a house that always smells like fresh chocolate chip cookies from his mother baking, and learned how to play football from his father and not the television.

In this universe, the last time Isak saw his mother bake was when she stuffed the dirty laundry into the oven during one of her moments. In this universe, his father drifts in and out of their lives without ever bringing him along. In this universe, Isak is alone and terrified.

"I can clean up." He repeats, his fists clenching in synch with his heart.

-

ii.

Isak is ten years old and watching his father pack his bags again.

"I'll be better, I swear it." His voice is pleading.

"This isn't about you, Isak. It never is." His father frowns, offering him a sympathetic smile. "Someday, when you're older, you'll understand."

Isak swallows hard around the lump in his throat. "Please don't go," he whispers.

The thing of it all is that he's never asked his father to stay before. He knows that asking is futile anyways, because his father doesn't care what Isak wants. If he did, Isak would be packing a bag right now, too.

His father sighs, the sound fading to an annoyed grunt. "You're not a child anymore, Isak." He says. "I need a break. I deserve a break."

Isak just doesn't get it. He's too young to understand, but old enough that he should be able to anyways?

"She's getting better. She hasn't had her visions lately." He insists, not moving from the doorway as his father approaches. He'll refuse to go until his father has unpacked the bags in his hands if that's what it takes to make him stay.

"Isak!" His father snaps, putting the suitcases down.

For a moment, Isak's heart lifts with hope. He can picture it: his father lifting him into his arms, hugging him close, and apologizing for ever leaving him before.

The fantasy ends as he feels calloused hands on his shoulders. He doesn't have time to brace for the impact of the wall behind him before he's shoved, leaving him winded and terrified.

With a soft whimper, Isak wraps his arms around his middle, sucking in a desperate breath. He slumps until his butt hits the wooden floor, watching pitifully as the bags are retrieved.

"Don't get in my way again." His father says, simple and to the point.

Isak bites the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. He straightens his shoulders, nods, and replies, "Okay."

-

iii.

Isak is fourteen and watching the boy he's in love with makeout with a random girl.

It's their first real party, and admittedly, he's feeling overwhelmed. There's drunk people, and dancing people, and _dancing drunk people_ , all around him.

He hates it.

If he were in a movie, he figures that this would be the moment he makes steamy eye contact with a sexy stranger. They'd have a laugh about this 'not being their scene,' and move outside where they'd talk until morning. It would end with him kissing her, her kissing back, and them living happily ever after.

Except he's gay. Really fucking gay. Which means that kissing girls is a bit like kissing a cold fish, and the only guy he's interested in is far from a stranger and too occupied to meet his eyes.

Isak doesn't know when his feelings for Jonas first made the jump from platonic to more. He figures it was around the time he noticed that Jonas had developed abs—a discovery that fueled his first ever wet dream.

He doesn't have any claim on Jonas, obviously. He hasn't even come out—and isn't sure he'll ever have enough confidence to for that matter—but that doesn't ease the pain in his heart.

"Man, you alright?"

He turns toward Magnus quickly, who is staring at him as if he's suddenly sprouted a second head. "What?"

"I asked if you were alright," Magnus says slowly, gesturing toward Isak's face. "You look like you're going to cry."

Isak blinks quickly, suddenly aware of the tears that had unknowingly been brimming his eyes. " _Nei_. I just got something in my eye." He laughs.

It's so fake, is the thing. Everything about him is fake, and he can't tell anyone without his whole world crumbling. He doesn't have much, but he has Jonas and the boys, and he can't risk losing them.

"Or you've had too much alcohol." Magnus nudges him, smirking. He's bought the lie.

Isak doesn't know why that makes him even sadder.

He laughs again anyways, not mentioning that he hasn't had a single sip of anything since they've arrived.

-

iv.

Isak is seventeen and cornered by four boys in the school bathroom.

"You shouldn't even be in here," one of them snarls. "I don't want you looking at my dick while I'm trying to take a piss."

"He'd probably get right on his knees. Gays always want it." Another chimes, earning chuckles from the rest.

He wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

_We're in 2016, Isak. Get out of the closet._

Emma's words ring through his head like a mantra. He wishes she had minded her own business instead of getting involved in his—

But not really, he supposes. He has Even now, and dealing with assholes seems like such a small sacrifice in the scheme of things.

"I'm only trying to wash my hands and go." He says, trying to sound confident. "There's no need for trouble."

"There's no need for trouble." The first boy mocks, and then swings.

That first blow catches him off guard, and it sends a stab of pain through his jaw. Before he can react, two of the boys grab either of his arms, pinning him against the stall door. He tries to fight them, but even though he's tall he's also lanky and no match for them.

"Fag."

"Cocksucker."

"Have fun taking it up the ass tonight, princess."

He wants to curl up on the floor and cry. Generally, he tries to ignore what other people say; he doesn't know these boys, they don't know him, and so their words should have no power. Yet their words cut through him like knives, and take residence under the thick skin he's built up.

He doesn't cry, nor does he surrender. He sets his jaw and squirms against their grips, kicking at them whenever he can.

They finish in a matter of minutes, but it feels as though hours have passed. He stands slowly, grimacing in pain, and moves toward the mirror. With wet paper towels, he wipes away the blood and examines the tender spots.

"Fag," he tells his reflection. The word echoes.

(Later, when Even and the boys ask, he'll tell them he fell down the stairs on the way to the bathroom. They'll believe him, if only because he laughs about it like he's okay. Like everything is okay.)

-

v.

Isak is seventeen and a half and lying in bed with his boyfriend on a lazy Sunday morning.

They've spent nearly an hour kissing and snuggling in silence, save for the occasional 'I love you' from Even. These are the moments that ground him.

"I wanted to ask you something," Even says quietly. He's speaking into the fluffy curls of Isak's hair, one hand tracing patterns into the space between his shoulder blades.

Isak hums.

"I know you went to that appointment to see about getting sleep medication again." Even murmurs, "How was that?"

Isak tenses. "I couldn't get the pills."

"Okay." Even nods, tilting his head so he can look him in the eyes. His features are so soft and caring. "Why not?"

His Adam's apple bobs, his eyes flickering from the drawings on the wall above them to Even. "She thought I would benefit from... sessions, first."

"I go to sessions." Even reminds, "They're strange at first, but they're not bad. And you can always end them if you're too uncomfortable."

"Aren't you going to ask why?" Isak blurts.

"Do you want me to?" Even asks, quirking one brow up. He glides his hand down the little bumps of his spine, and then follows them right back up again. "I was under the impression you didn't want to talk about it."

"I don't." He says immediately, "I mean—shit."

Isak doesn't cry in front of people. He doesn't like the pity and sympathy, the concerned glances, or the questions; but he can't force the tears stinging the backs of his eyes away.

"She says I have depression," he admits, "and PTSD."

"Alright." Even's expression doesn't change, his tone patient. "And how do you feel about that?"

"I think it's bullshit." He says, just as a tear dribbles down his cheek. It falls off his chin and onto Even's chest, and the older boy doesn't so much as bat an eye. "I'm fine."

"No one is fine." Even points out gently. "That's not even a real adjective. You can be happy, or angry, or _empty_ , even, but you can't be fine."

Isak sobs. It sounds like he's choking, which he thinks is fitting, because he's been suffocating on his own bullshit his entire life.

"I'm not," he says, sucking in a breathy gasp. "I'm not fine."

"I know, baby." Even soothes, bringing his other arm up to envelope him in a true hug.

Isak wants to say so much, but the words are locked away into a piece of his heart he can't dare open. Even doesn't push him, and Isak adds that to the list of Reasons Why Even is the Best Boyfriend. He lets Isak sob against his chest for over an hour without saying a word about it.

"Somewhere in a parallel universe," Isak whispers eventually, his face flushed in the aftermath of his meltdown. "There's an Isak telling an Even a story about a little boy who..." he trails off.

Even waits calmly.

"A little boy who was scared." He says timidly. "And that little boy grew up and was still scared. He was so scared that he lost himself, and he didn't think he'd ever know truth again."

And then he met a boy, and he made him real. He brought out parts of him he'd forgot even existed. But he was still scared, and he didn't think he could tell his boy everything yet."

When he looks up, he finds Even watching him with a soothing smile. "Whenever any Isak from any universe is ready to tell that story, I'll be ready to listen. Until then, I will be here for this Isak—" he leans down, carefully brushing their noses together, "however he needs me to be."

"I love you." Isak tells him. It's not enough, it will never be enough for all that Even's done for him, but it's something.

"I love you too. Always." Even replies, pressing another kiss to his lips.

If he notices Isak's extra tears of relief when he deepens the kiss, he doesn't mention it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed, please let me know! I'm considering turning this into a whole verse, so it would mean a lot to know people's thoughts :)


End file.
